


The Moon

by JhanaMay



Series: Arcana [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28079607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JhanaMay/pseuds/JhanaMay
Summary: His entire life has been turned on its head by the yellow-eyed demon but Sam can't stop thinking about what happened between him and Dean in Iowa.Set vaguely between No Exit (2x6) and Crossroad Blues (2x8)
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Arcana [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551187
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	The Moon

The entire house shudders when Sam kicks the front door closed, but there’s no one around to yell at him for it. Bobby got called in for a job in Mankato yesterday morning, and he told them not to wait up when he packed the Chevelle and headed out. He called last night to say he’ll be gone for at least a few days.

Dean wouldn’t care, and even if he did, he barely comes into the house except to sleep. Twenty minutes ago, the radio out in the junkyard clicked off and he stuck his head in the door to say he was going into town to pick up parts. Sam listened to the rumble of the Impala as Dean drove away with mixed feelings. There’s no doubt that the old GTO Dean has been tinkering with for the last month needs parts, but Sam is pretty sure that’s not the only thing he’s going into town for.

Sam flops onto the couch and closes his eyes. It’s better this way. Whether Dean comes back smelling like perfume or weed, it’s for the best. Picking up women at the bar in town or driving to the Roadhouse to see Ash, it’s all the same to Sam. They’re clearly putting what happened between them in Iowa behind them. 

It’s not like Sam wants anything different. Between their dad’s death and worrying about Sam being one of the demon’s special children, neither have brought it up. For the first few weeks, Sam tensed every time Dean brushed against him or clasped his arm. When they fought, especially when punches flew, Sam always wondered if Dean was one breath away from kissing him. 

Despite what he said in the hotel that night, Sam has been ready to convince Dean it’s wrong, too far, a bad idea. No matter how much he might want it, they’re brothers, and what they did was a mistake. Their lives are complicated enough without crossing lines better left untouched. He has a whole speech prepared.

But it hasn’t mattered, because Dean seems to have forgotten it happened at all. Sam is no longer surprised at the way Dean’s eyes follow the women they come into contact with—even Jo when Ellen isn’t looking—but now that he knows what to look for, Dean’s interest in other men is also crystal clear. Hell, every word he and Ash exchange is dripping with innuendo, and Sam would have to be an idiot to not realize what it means when Dean disappears and stumbles into the house the next morning smelling like pot smoke.

So, Dean is probably on his way to Nebraska right now, or maybe he’ll meet Ash halfway. Things are still pretty tense after the blow-up with Jo and Ellen last week. He’ll come home loose and relaxed the way he always is after getting laid, and that will make him easier to deal with for at least a few days. In spite of everything, things are back to normal.

At least, that’s what Sam tells himself.

Sam pushes up from the couch to get a glass of water from the kitchen, but the cool liquid does nothing to quench his irritation. He pulls open the cupboard next to the fridge and eyes the bottle of whiskey there. They haven’t had a job in over a week, and nothing cropped up during his morning spent scanning news bulletins. They’re both getting more restless by the minute. 

When they aren’t busy, Sam finds himself obsessing about things better left alone. Things like the way his brother’s mouth tastes and the feel of Dean’s body wrapped around his dick. At this point, he’s not sure if he’s jerking off too much or not enough, because every time Dean is close enough to touch, Sam’s body reacts in a way that is anything but brotherly.

He slams the cupboard shut and stomps back into the living room without the bottle, kicking Dean’s pile of blankets and tangle of clothes in the process. The couch makes a sound like a dying animal when he drops back onto it. Bobby made some noise about cleaning out one of the rooms upstairs for them to share, but they’re still making due by taking turns sleeping on the couch. At least if Dean doesn’t come back tonight, Sam will get the couch for two days in a row.

Maybe Sam should take his own trip into town. He could borrow one of the beaters Dean has gotten running and work off his irritation the same way Dean does. Other than that disastrous encounter with his lab partner in college, Sam has never had a one-night-stand, but he’s been watching Dean pick up women for years. He knows women find him attractive; it can’t be that hard. It could be an opportunity to lose himself and forget all the shit that has been plaguing them. 

And an opportunity to replace the erotic fantasies in his head with more appropriate ones. 

A thought occurs to him. He could pick up a guy instead. Someone to scratch the itch Dean has awakened inside him. Maybe even someone to explore the other things Sam has been thinking about. Like what it would be like to be fucked. To have Dean press into him and fill him. He’s never done that, never even touched himself there, but he can’t stop thinking about it. There would be no going back if he let Dean have him that way, but he wants it with every fiber of his being and is terrified of it in equal measure.

Sam’s cock throbs, and he palms the front of his jeans. It’s been a few days since he’s had time to jerk off and the friction makes his cock harden. Absently, he squeezes the shaft through the denim, rocking his hips slightly. The head thickens, pressing against the inside of his briefs as he continues to knead and stroke through the fabric. 

Fuck it. He has the house to himself, so he can at least take the edge off.

The zipper rasps as he pulls it down to reach into his briefs and pull out his cock. It’s weird to be exposed in Bobby’s living room, especially with the window right there, but his hand on the sensitive skin feels good enough that he ignores the discomfort. He indulges in a few dry strokes before he glances over at Dean’s duffle sitting next to the tangle of blankets.

Rolling off the couch, Sam walks over to pull the half-empty bottle of lube out of the end pocket. Dean goes through enough of the stuff that he’ll never miss it. He might as well indulge. On the way back to the couch, he shucks his jeans and briefs. Settling back down, he hesitates. It feels even more risque to be completely naked than it does to have his cock out. After a moment’s deliberation, he tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it on the pile with the rest of his clothes. No one ever comes out to the junkyard this late in the day without calling first, and he deserves to be comfortable. 

Naked, he stretches out and tips the bottle to allow a few drops to fall onto his still half-hard dick. It’s chilly, but he quickly covers it with his hand, stroking and twisting to coat his cock the whole way around. That feels so much better.

Tipping his head back on the arm of the couch, Sam closes his eyes and lets himself fall into a rhythm. Down the shaft, fingers stroking over his balls, before coming back up with a twist and squeeze at the head. He reaches up to tweak one nipple, then the other, letting the fantasy unspool in his head. He hasn’t been able to jerk off to thoughts of Jessica since her death, but now, he doesn’t bother to conjure up a faceless woman. Rather, the hand he imagines wrapped around his dick is large and strong, palm rough from gripping a wrench, a shovel, or a gun.

The closer he gets to the edge, the more his fantasies call to him. He bends his right leg and shifts to plant his left foot on the floor next to the couch, then grabs the bottle to drip some lube onto his left hand. Still stroking himself with his right, he presses the pads of his fingers to the pucker of muscle at his entrance. It feels weird and uncomfortable, but he continues to circle his fingers around the entrance until he gets up the nerve to press the tip of one inside. 

Oh. That feels… not quite good, but definitely interesting. Emboldened, he shifts so he can push a second finger inside, two fingers now buried in his ass up to the second knuckle. He pumps them in and out a few times, then gingerly tries to spread them apart. The slight burning pressure sends waves of sensation through him, and his dick twitches in his hand. There’s a sense of fullness, of being split open, that is vaguely overwhelming. Is that how Dean felt when Sam was inside him? 

Closing his eyes again, Sam strokes his cock faster, his fingers driving in and out of himself harder and deeper with each thrust. He knows it’s wrong and not helping him in the least, but he lets himself imagine it’s Dean’s cock rather than his own fingers pounding into him. He remembers the warm slide of Dean’s skin against his chest, raspy with hair rather than smooth and soft like Jessica. His balls draw up, the fantasy driving him closer and closer to the edge. 

“Holy fuck.”

Sam’s eyes snap open and his entire world goes haywire. Dean stands just inside the open door, a pizza box balanced on one hand while several plastic bags dangle from the other. One hip is still pressed against the door where he must have knocked it open. Dean’s face is slack and wide green eyes jump from Sam’s face, down over his body, and back up again several times before Dean swallows hard and hip checks the door closed. 

The echo of the door slamming breaks Sam out of his daze, and he yanks both hands up to cover his cock while pushing himself into a seated position. It’s ridiculous because Dean has seen his dick a hundred times, even before they fucked. They’ve even walked in on each other jerking off over the years, but it feels different now. Intimate in a way it never had before. “What are you doing here?” His voice is strangled and slightly hoarse from the moans he hadn’t been able to stifle.

A flush colors Dean’s face as he continues to stare, creeping across his cheekbones and darkening his freckles. “How long did you think it would take me to pick up a timing belt and a set of spark plugs?” he asks in a husky voice, dropping his cargo onto the table next to the door and taking a step toward Sam.

“Stop,” Sam barks, raising one hand to hold him off while still covering his cock with his other hand. “Don’t come any closer.”

Dean frowns, confusion obvious, then his eyes darken again and he leers. “I could help you out with that, Sammy. If you wanted to branch out, all you had to do is ask.”

His cock pulses against his covering hand, letting Sam know how much it likes the sound of that. “No,” he forces himself to say instead, his entire planned speech completely gone. “It’s not—it’s… wrong.” The argument is weak and Sam knows it.

Hurt crosses Dean’s face. “That’s not what you said in the hotel.”

Sam sighs. “I was— This is— It’s such a bad idea.”

Dean takes another step, and it’s clear he’s planning to bully his way through Sam’s defenses the same way he did in the hotel. 

Grasping for some kind of shield, Sam tries the same deterrent he always uses when Dean has a stupid, dangerous idea. “What would Dad say?” 

As soon as the words are out, Sam knows it was the wrong thing to say. The pain and guilt Dean has been carrying for the last few months flood his expression, washing away the hurt. His jaw clenches and he spits out, “Dad is dead. He can’t say anything.”

Fuck. Dean has been so messed up over what he  _ thinks _ John did that Sam has been scrambling to not make it worse. “Then Bobby,” he tries desperately. “Ellen. Jo. Pastor—” Sam snaps his jaw shut on the words, remembering at the last moment that Pastor Jim is dead, too. “Come on, Dean,” he tries. “You have to know how everyone would react.”

Dean narrows his eyes, the tiny tick in his jaw belying how pissed off he is. “You think I give a flying fuck what anyone thinks? I don’t. I’ve lived my whole goddamn life for other people. For Dad, for you, for the people we save. What has that gotten me? Jack shit but pain and more pain. I deserve to have something for myself.  _ We  _ deserve to have something for ourselves.” He takes a deep breath and shoots Sam an angry glare. “So if you don’t want this, you fucking tell me in your own words that you don’t want it and I swear to God, Sam, I’ll never bring it up again. I’ll never even look at you sideways. But stop using other people to deny what you want. You at least owe me that.”

The words are there on the tip of Sam’s tongue, the speech with all it’s socially appropriate reasons, but he can’t bring himself to lie. He knows all the things he should say. All the arguments he should make. But what he says is, “I’m scared wanting you is just another thing that makes me a freak. That it’s something the yellow-eyed demon twisted inside me.”

Dean freezes, his expression going rigid for a second before it softens and he steps closer. There are only a few feet separating them now. He keeps his gaze on Sam’s face when he says, “Then what about me? If it’s something the demon did to you, why would I want it?”

“Maybe I’m like Ansem and I’m making you want it.” Now that the words are out, Sam can see that’s a big part of what he’s afraid of. That he’s warping Dean, twisting him and using him for the yellow-eyed demon’s purpose. Or maybe just for his own. Ansem didn’t do what he did for the demon, but out of selfishness. And selfish is what Sam feels when he thinks about having this with Dean. He’ll end up damning Dean right along with him. 

The floorboards creak as Dean closes the distance between them and sinks to his knees beside the couch. “You were controlling me before you left for school? Your powers or whatever go back that far?”

Sam frowns. “Well, no. The premonitions didn’t start until a few months before Jessica’s death.”

Dean raises both brows. “And you said you hadn’t even thought about it, about us, until you got to college?”

“No,” Sam says slowly. “But…”

“I’ve wanted this—you—for years. Since before you left for school. There’s no way how I feel is coming from you.” He runs one hand through his hair and sighs. “Trust me, I’ve told myself all the reasons you can come up with for why this is a bad idea. I’m not gonna push this on you if you really don’t want it,” Dean says, reaching out to brush Sam’s hair off his forehead with one trembling hand. The gesture is so tender, so unlike Dean, that Sam’s heart aches. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

Sam knows what he should say—what any sane person would tell him to say—but he can’t force the words out. As guilty as he feels, he wants what Dean is offering. He wants to not feel alone. He wants his brother. Sam takes a deep breath and swallows hard, turning his face into Dean’s outstretched hand. “Kiss me.”

Dean lets the corner of his lips quirk up for a second before he covers Sam’s mouth with his. There’s no hesitation, nothing held back. Sam brings his hands up to curve around Dean’s neck, immediately opening to him when Dean deepens the kiss. It’s both thrilling and comforting, equal parts homecoming and exhilaration. Dean leans in, pushing Sam back against the couch, and fabric brushes against Sam’s bare chest. When Dean runs one hand down his chest to splay over his stomach, it doesn’t take long for his cock to stir back to life.

Sam breaks the kiss and opens his eyes. Bright green eyes meet his, and the naked desire in them sends another bolt of lust through him. As much as he wants to hide, to pretend he doesn’t want this as much as Dean does, Dean is right. He owes Dean this much. “I want you to fuck me,” he says with raw honesty, holding Dean’s gaze with more conviction than he feels.

Dean startles. He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep, tremulous breath before opening them to search Sam’s face. “Are you gonna regret it?”

It’s obvious what Dean wants him to say, but there’s enough bullshit between them already. Sam shrugs. “Probably.”

It takes a long time for Dean to answer. He stares out the window over Sam’s head into the gathering darkness in the junkyard and chews his lip for several moments before sighing. “Okay, yeah.”

“If you don’t want to—”

“I do,” Dean says quickly, eyes filled with as much resignation as heat as they dart back to Sam’s. He reaches for the bottle of lube, but Sam snatches it away.

“I’ll do it,” he says quickly. Although Dean’s cock will be inside him soon, it feels weirdly intimate for Dean to touch him there. Like it’s more than just sex. More than fucking. And this can’t ever be more. That’s the only way Sam will survive it.

“You need to be ready so I don’t hurt you.” Dean reaches for the bottle again, but Sam holds it away from him.

“I said I’d do it.” 

Dean rolls his eyes, but he relents and leans back on his heels. Sam flushes as he coats his fingers with more lube and slides his hand between his legs. His opening is still slick and it barely burns when he slides two fingers back in, so he immediately goes for three. He tries not to make eye contact with Dean as he works himself open, torn between ignoring the feeling that he’s on display and wanting to see how it affects Dean. 

After a few moments, Dean shrugs out of his jacket and pulls his t-shirt over his head. His eyes go right back to watching Sam as he opens his jeans and pushes them down far enough to pull his cock out. Sam’s rhythm falters, his gaze fixed on the dusky head of Dean’s dick sliding through his fist as he strokes himself. Dean cocks an eyebrow. “You need to stretch—”

“I know.”

“I’m just saying—”

“I’m not an idiot, Dean,” Sam snaps, scissoring his fingers far enough that the burn makes his breath catch. His cock is fully hard again, and he drags the fingers of his other hand up and down the shaft a few times before he continues. “I know how this works even if I’ve never done it before.” Dean’s eyes darken, and it strikes Sam that Dean will be his first. That Dean’s possessiveness and overprotectiveness extend even to this. Sam pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the blanket. “That’s enough. Just get your dick in me.”

Although it looks like Dean still wants to argue, he yanks Sam up onto his knees and bullies him until he’s facing the back of the couch. With the gathering night, the junkyard is shrouded in darkness, and Sam can see their reflections in the window. His eyes are glassy, and they widen even farther when Dean forces his legs apart and hums his appreciation. Dean presses his hand against the small of Sam’s back and leans in, his expression intense with both lust and trepidation.

The lube bottle snaps and then the blunt, slick head of Dean’s cock presses against his hole. Dean’s hands grip his hips, and Sam tenses, ready for the intrusion. Rather than pushing forward, though, Dean drops a kiss between Sam’s shoulder blades. “You gotta relax,” he murmurs, his lips brushing Sam’s skin. Both hands trail soothingly up and down Sam’s sides as he presses more open-mouthed kisses to Sam’s spine. 

“I don’t know how,” Sam admits in a shaky voice. He wills his body to relax but his muscles tremble with tension.

Dean lets his cheek rest against Sam’s back, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Sam says quickly. “I want to. Just do it.” If they stop now, Sam isn’t sure he’ll ever get up the nerve to try again.

Stubble rasps across his skin as Dean turns his head to kiss his spine again. “Okay,” he whispers. One hand slips around from Sam’s hip to circle his cock, and Sam jerks at the unexpected touch. “It’s okay,” Dean murmurs, his hand sliding slowly up the shaft and over the head, then quickening as he strokes back down. “Remember how good it felt when you fucked me?” He strokes again, fingers teasing around the head. “Focus on that. Think about how good it felt.”

Sam closes his eyes and lets himself get lost in Dean’s touch. The pressure at his opening is still there, but it’s hard to think about it when liquid pleasure is spooling out from where Dean is slowly, gently jerking him off. Dean’s hand slides up to circle the head and pauses, and Sam moans. 

“Go ahead,” Dean says, hand squeezing and releasing but not moving. “Fuck my fist.”

A protest stutters across Sam’s lips with a stab of disappointment. This isn’t what he wants, isn’t even close to his fantasy, but he’s so horny that even the prospect of letting Dean get him off this way is better than the persistent ache in his balls. He shifts his hips to push his dick through Dean’s slick grip, then tilts them the other way to pull back. When he does, the head of Dean’s cock nudges against his hole and Dean groans. __

_ Oh. _

Realization dawns and Sam thrusts forward and then back again quicker. The slick slide through Dean’s fist sends molten heat flowing outward and after a few thrusts, he can ignore the increasing pressure at his opening to chase headlong after release. His muscles gradually let go of the horrible tension they’ve been holding. 

With the next rock of Sam’s hips, Dean meets his thrust and the head of his cock shoves through the ring of muscle, snatching Sam’s breath away. “Bear down, Sammy,” Dean pants. “Let me in.”

Sam tries to do as Dean says, forcing himself to remain pliant despite the overwhelming sensation of being split open. He continues to rock his hips, more gingerly now, and with each tiny undulation, Dean presses forward, his cock gradually sliding deeper inside. Finally, Dean’s pelvis hits Sam’s ass and he grips Sam’s hips to hold him still. “There you go,” Dean says, his voice rough with a tangle of emotions. He releases Sam’s dick to smooth his palms over Sam’s ass and lower back.

Dean is all the way inside him. It still hurts a little, aches and burns as Dean stretches him more than his fingers ever could have, but Sam doesn’t care. Dean’s cock is inside him, and Sam is positive he’s never felt anything like it. 

“Are you okay?” There’s enough panic in Dean’s voice that it sends a jolt through Sam’s chest.

“Yeah. I’m— It’s a lot.”

Dean shudders, his cock pulsing inside Sam, but he gives a bitter laugh. “Yeah, especially the first time.”

The rancor in Dean’s voice makes Sam wonder about Dean’s first time. Was it like this? With someone who took their time and made it good for him? Or was it—

Sam shoves the thought away. He’s so vulnerable like this, with Dean’s cock holding him open, that he can’t bear the thought of Dean in this position. That someone might have hurt him and turned something that should have been amazing into a memory that brings that tone to Dean’s voice fills Sam with rage.

“But it feels good,” Sam adds, needing to make sure Dean knows. He rocks his hips experimentally, gasping when it jostles Dean’s cock inside him. 

“Gonna make it feel so much better,” Dean promises. He pulls out a few inches and slowly slides back in, and the slick drag lights Sam up from the inside. With each careful movement, he pulls out farther, making the slide back in even more intense. By the time he has a steady rhythm going, the ache is gone and there’s nothing but pleasure left in its wake. 

“Fuck, Dean. It feels amazing,” Sam groans, rocking back to meet his increasingly hard thrusts. Dean slides one arm around his chest and pulls him up straighter, changing the angle inside him. The next thrust makes Sam’s fingers and toes tingle, and Dean laughs when he gasps.

“Got it.” Dean gives another chuckle and angles his hips to hit the same spot again. 

Sam swallows another gasp and clenches his hands on the back of the couch harder. He shudders, his cock pulsing and twitching. “Is that—”

“Welcome to your prostate, Sammy,” Dean says, all the bitterness gone.

The retort is strangled in Sam’s throat as Dean hits that spot over and over. Sam rides the pleasure coursing through his body and the happiness in Dean’s voice, letting them pull him closer and closer to the edge. “I’m so close,” he whimpers. “I need to come, Dean. Please.”

Dean obliges by sliding the arm wrapped around his chest down to grasp his cock again. This time, Sam doesn’t need any coaxing to drive himself back on Dean’s dick and forward into his fist. His entire consciousness contracts to the drag of Dean’s calloused palm over his shaft and the thick, unyielding length inside him.

“Come for me, baby,” Dean murmurs against the back of Sam’s neck, fucking into him over and over.

Sam isn’t sure if it’s the sensation overload or the awe in the unexpected endearment that pushes him over the edge, but he tips into the abyss with a guttural cry. His body convulses, clenching around Dean’s cock, and he looks down in time to watch his own dick twitch and pulse and spurt his release into Dean’s cupped hand. Shockwave after shockwave roll through him, whiting out his vision and leaving him so dazed he’s barely aware of Dean’s harsh groan as he shoves himself deep and empties into Sam’s body.

With a gentleness Sam wasn’t aware Dean had in him, Dean cradles Sam to his chest and supports his weight until his body stops trembling. Once Sam is sure his own muscles will support him, he shifts his hips, flinching when Dean’s softening dick slips free. 

Dean coaxes him down onto his side, and Sam watches through slitted eyelids as Dean wipes his hand on Sam’s discarded shirt. He stands up and tucks himself back into his jeans before doing up the zipper. “Stay here,” he says, brushing the sweaty tangle of Sam’s hair back from his forehead before disappearing toward the kitchen, his jeans riding low on his slim hips. When he returns, he’s carrying a wet washrag. “Guess we’re doing a load of laundry before Bobby gets back,” he says with an awkward chuckle as he cleans Sam’s ass with delicate swipes of the warm rag.

“Thanks.” Sam isn’t sure whether he’s thanking Dean for cleaning him up or for fucking him in the first place. There’s a twinge in his ass that makes it clear he’ll still feel this tomorrow, but all he feels now is content.

Dean shrugs, not meeting Sam’s eyes. 

Sam grabs his arm as he starts to stand up. “I mean it, Dean,” he says when Dean finally raises his eyes to Sam’s face. “Thank you.”

Dean bites his lower lip. “You don’t regret it?”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet,” Dean repeats with a huff. “Let me know when you do.” He pulls his arm away and snatches up the rest of his clothes.

Sam gets dressed, watching out of the corner of his eye as Dean’s back muscles bunch and release as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. When they’re both fully clothed again, the fabric like armor between them, Sam still isn’t sure what to say to make it better. He settles on, “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

Dean’s shoulders tense. “You’re not.”

“Dean.”

“I mean it.” Dean crosses his arms over his chest, his back still to Sam. “I know you’re confused. I get that. I’ve had almost five years to get used to the idea and I’m still confused as fuck.” He sighs and turns to meet Sam’s eyes with a defiant tilt of his head. “But I refuse to feel bad about something that makes me happy.”

Sam startles. “Do I? Make you happy, I mean?”

Dean swallows hard and a faint flush creeps over his cheekbones again. “You’re pretty much the only thing that ever has,” he admits, eyes flickering away. He clears his throat and retrieves the beer and pizza from the table. “Now, are we eating or do you have any other feelings you want to talk about? We could paint our nails and do each other’s hair.”

Sam swallows his smile. “I could eat.” 

Dean walks into the kitchen and Sam follows. No, he’s still not sure what to do about this thing between them, and he’s pretty sure it’s going to end ugly, but for tonight, at least, sharing a pizza and a six-pack with his brother is the easiest thing in the world. 


End file.
